Helena Beat
by Couch Potato
Summary: Helena G. Wells invented a time machine...of sorts. But not all great inventions beget great futures. ONE-SHOT Rated for mild violence.


Hello, hello. So it's been a long time since I last posted any story, but the plot bunny has recently visited and left me wanting to write again. This is my first of a couple one-shot ideas, perhaps I'll even get around to writing the others (two more Warehouse 13 and one Harry Potter).

But I digress. The title of this fic comes from one of my favorite songs ever, by Foster the People; the music video for that same song is actually what inspired this short story ( **YouTube** _/watch?v=ABzh6hTYpb8_ ). It is a one-shot, with no current plans for continuation; I figure if I don't promise chapters than no one can be disappointed when I don't deliver, right?

Anywho, I was up at 430 this morning with the song stuck in my head and this idea rolling around. Who am I to deny the urge, right? I apologize if there are any mistakes as I wrote this in one sitting (seriously, that is a huge accomplishment for me) and then immediately proofed it myself, which tends to lead to some typos in the very least. On that final note: cheers.

* * *

Myka Bering had to wonder what exactly had happened. Her job as a secret agent was certainly in high demand, as society's controlled order had sharply declined in recent weeks. First with an uncontrollable wave of crimes - such incidents as minor as vandalism to the more serious armed assault. Despite her colleagues denials, the brown haired investigator had no doubt that the recent strings of arson was also related to the situation.

Not to mention the disappearances. It was a mystery as to where the reported (for there was still no concrete evidence) band of unruly youths had come from. But as soon as the wave of crimes started people had begun to turn up missing - primarily those in high political or economical standing. Oddly enough, there were no active Amber Alerts or reported kidnappings in the area. Perhaps people had just decided to get out of town while it was still possible.

Myka couldn't deny the nagging suspicion that that wasn't the case. Unfortunately, no theory is believable without reason, and it had been nigh impossible to get any of her fellow agents to hear her out.

She should have stuck with medical school instead of switching to criminal justice.

She drove uneasily on the winding road, wishing not for the first time that she had thought to request back up. She had been sent out to investigate a disturbance that had been called in anonymously. The caller had been a young accented voice, providing no other details except 'about fifty kilometers north of town, aid required, with all due haste'.

Myka glanced in her rear view mirror, still able to make out plumes of smoke coming from the city. The governor had called in the National Guard but two weeks prior to help restore some semblance of order.

All efforts had been unsuccessful as of yet.

Her hands were sweaty as they gripped the steering wheel tighter. She managed to let out a controlled breath.

Due to the distance outside of town, the local police were unwilling, or perhaps unable, to send any units to respond to the call. With the increased threat risk, all state police had been urged to not respond within a fifty mile radius of the city. Thus she, as one of the temporary federal agents assigned to the case, was sent out to investigate.

She came around a bend in the wooded road before slamming on her breaks with a gasp of surprise.

In front of her, half off the road half in it, was an old truck, the drivers side door wide open as the hazards flashed. On the street was an infant's car seat, but no one else was in sight. Myka hastily slammed her rental into park, unbuckling her seat belt as she threw open her own door, smoothly clipping her baretta to her belt with practiced ease. Not missing a beat, she jogged to the car seat, crouching down as she pushed back the sun visor and removed the blanket, blinking in confusion as the dirty baby doll that sat within it. Was that a pentagram on its forehead?

A brush of her finger indicated yes, it had been drawn there with sharpie. Her heart pounded as she slowly rose, hair standing on end. Locking her jaw she took a deep breath before striding forward to the truck. The radio was blaring some nonsensical song, but other than a dirty bench seat, and some spare coins in the cup holder, there was nothing to suggest what had happened. With even more confusion, she killed the engine, stopping the noise of the radio.

Until the silence, she hadn't noticed how distracting it had been. As she straightened from the truck, she heard the familiar shuffle of feet behind her. After freezing for all of one moment, she spun, gun trained easily on the burly teen in front of her. Brown eyes stared down the barrel in surprise.

"Whoa dude, not cool."

Myka didn't flinch, instead watched furtively as more teens joined the first. A small boy with brown hair and glasses too big for his face walked beside a girl with red and blue hair. Three blondes stood off to one side, two boys and a girl. A tall teen with dark features and tanned skin. Another girl with darker skin and short, tightly curly hair and oddly serene hazel eyes.

Two of the blondes, one of the boys and the girl, had rifles trained on her, while the tallest teen tapped what seemed to be a cricket bat against one hand.

"Drop it," ordered the blonde with the rifle. Despite his youth, he looked to be about ten, he seemed to be calling the shots.

Myka complied, letting the pistol hang from her finger as she presented her open hands. Slowly she lowered the handgun to the ground before she straightened again.

"Kick it here."

The agent did so. It was quickly scooped up by the smallest boy, with the too big glasses, who pointed it awkwardly at her, clearly never having held a gun before in his life. Myka noted what seemed to be a taser in the hands of his small companion, not pointed at her, but still at the ready. The other three teens seemed to be there simply for numbers.

The blonde grinned cruelly at her.

"Good. You're making this easy."

"Making what easy?" she quietly inquired after a moment. The boy sneered.

"Marcus."

The teen in front of her moved back, somehow managing to look like a kicked puppy despite being big for his age. He was nearly her height and looked to be at least a bit heavier. His relocation made way for the tallest teen to step forward, eyes as cold as the smirk he wore. With a movement too quick to dodge, he swung the bat at the agent.

Myka was thrown to the side at the blow, sprawling on the hard cement. She wouldn't be surprised if her jaw was broken, she thought dazedly as the world spun and blood spurted from her mouth. She faintly registered being lifted and settled someplace hard, but the pounding in her head didn't die down for several minutes. When she finally came to, she found herself in the back of the pick up truck, out of the woods and speeding across a wheat field, rocks and holes be damned.

She faintly made out the small red and blue haired girl driving her rental car behind them, and Myka could only think how the agency would most certainly not cover the insurance to repair it.

That's the last thing you need to worry about right now, she chided herself as she eyed the three children who shared the bed of the truck with her. The two glaring blondes with the rifles and Marcus with his cold, hard gaze.

With a glance over her shoulder, she saw the third blonde sitting in the passenger seat while the burly teen drove the truck. Through both windshields she could make out a large metal structure in the distance, nestled in the hillside, quickly approaching. She turned back to her three companions. The blonde boy was shaking his head at her, that cruel grin back in place.

It made her uneasy.

The truck finally skidded to a halt across the dirt and gravel that was now underfoot. She was pulled off the bed and to her feet by the two who had been in the cab, and they forcefully dragged her into the huge structure.

"Home sweet home," the brown haired teen holding her shouted. His proclamation was met with several cheers and much racket. Myka was roughly lead to what seemed to be a holding pen, where her two escorts released her. She stood there for a moment, surveying the chain-link walls that boxed in the corner, before a blow to the back of her knees dropped her. A glance over her shoulder let her know that the blonde girl had hit her with the butt of her rifle.

"Get comfy," she snidely ordered, laughing as though something funny had just occurred. The gate shut behind her, a padlock securing her imprisonment. Numbly, head still throbbing, she looked around the small six by six cell. There was a pile of newspapers in the corner but otherwise it was empty save for herself. Perching in the corner on the makeshift mat, which did a poor job at cushioning her from the cold cement floor, she surveyed her prison.

Despite being inside a building, several tents were pitched around the floor. A handful of metal barrels supported fires and there was just a general disorganization that caused her to believe that no real order existed. In addition to the eight kids that had brought her in, there were a dozen more, all ranging between the ages of eight to thirteen if she had to guess. Closest to Myka, though outside her cage, was a drum set and several guitars. The agent recalled almost three weeks ago when a music store was reportedly looted and trashed - two young twenty-something employees were thought to be at fault as they had yet to turn up.

Her interested gaze settled on the small red and blue haired girl, who was strumming carelessly on a guitar while the too big glasses boy banged away on the drum set. The area surrounding the instruments seemed to be some sort of lounge, if the assortment of mismatched, ratty old couches they had assembled was any indication.

She likely had a concussion, Myka decided, gingerly shaking the thoughts from her head before continuing to look around. The catwalks up above the main floor were less of a walkway and more of a jungle gym, and a set of double doors were nestled in the wall adjacent to her cell, which had two levels - one exiting on the catwalks above, the other just a few yards away from the chain-link pen.

She didn't know where they lead, and she wasn't positive that she wanted to know. She watched in a stunned silence as the rental car was pushed into the building, before a hoard of kids swarmed it. Myka watched with a fascinated horror as the group of preteens and teens disassembled the Honda with more efficiency than the most seasoned mechanics. Unlike at a garage, however, it was not a neat and tidy dismemberment. Involving any blunt instrument on hand, by the end of the massacre there was no unblemished panel of the vehicle. Every piece of glass or mirror was shattered, shredded pieces of tires or interior were tossed into one of the many fire barrels, and the metal was torn apart, put into a what looked to be a pile of scrap in one of the other corners.

Eventually just the frame and engine remained, relatively unscathed. Myka couldn't even imagine what would happen to them.

In the following hours, she somehow managed to keep her composure, even has her head continued to throb and her pulse raced wildly. Screams, surprisingly cohesive, if loud, music, thrown debris, and the constant chaos had her in a dazed silence. The banging of the upper double doors brought a hush of noise, or perhaps she had simply blocked it all out as she looked up onto the cat walk.

Her breath caught as her eyes focused on the new girl, maybe thirteen, who stood over the rest. Objectively speaking, she was classically beautiful - dark hair and eyes and pale skin, surveying the mass chaos with a small, calculating smirk. She wore black pants, calf high boots, and a surprisingly clean, flowing white top. Myka imagined a future where she would probably be able to take over the world, if the amount of control she seemed to have over the mass assembly of children was any indication. Her dark eyes scanned the large room, not missing a single detail, before settling on Myka in the cage. One eyebrow quirked as the smirk widened.

Her imagine burned into Myka's mind even as she turned away, making her way to one of the many ladders leading down from the catwalk. She made her way leisurely over to the cage, holding herself with a confidence and assurance that seemed out of place in her youth.

"She was the responder," one of the boys, Myka recognized him as the quiet blonde from her capture, told the other teen, handing her what Myka recognized to be her badge. "She was all alone."

Up close, Myka could finally make out the color of her eyes, a never ending sea of brown, but with none of the dark coldness of Marcus' gaze. As intrigued as Myka was by this child, the cognizant, calculating look in her eyes made the agent even more uneasy as she studied the woman without censor, first her body, eying the bruising jaw, bloodied mouth, and her figure beneath her previously neat clothing, before moving her gaze upwards, studying the woman's startling eyes with an intensity she had never experienced before. Myka swallowed the little moisture that was in her mouth.

With a side glance to the blonde boy, the silent girl simply nodded her approval with a pleased grin, before spinning on her heels, booted feet carrying her back to the double doors on the ground level. She proceeded through them and out of sight. The blonde boy turned to his partner, the brown eyed teen whom Myka had her gun on earlier, who grinned with a youthful charm. The brunette let out a whoop.

It must have been some sort of signal, because the children briefly stopped their chaos to respond with cheers and catcalls of their own.

There was a flurry of movement as the kids suddenly moved in a swarm, some coming to the cage, jeering and banging on the chain-links, while others rushed through the double doors, loud bangs echoing back through them. The blonde boy from her capture, the one who'd had the rifle, pushed his way through the group of children, elbowing some, stomping the feet of others to get them to move. He undid the padlock, opening the door before nodding into the cell. The brunette and taller blonde obliged, taking hold of Myka's arms. Holding them behind her back, they forced her to her feet, leading her from the cell.

The agent didn't doubt that their presence, they both looked to be about thirteen and outsized most of the younger children, was the only thing stopping her from being whacked at or hit. Even so, Myka lost her breath at several blows to her stomach, and was almost brought down by additional blows to her legs. The teens were the only thing holding her up at points.

They lead her through the double doors, which lead into a wide hallway with doors on either side. Her escorts shoved her towards one, which she found to be a grimy bathroom, and stood guard outside of the door, which didn't quite close entirely.

Oddly enough, this bothered Myka less than it probably should have - she had been drug tested with observers too many times during her work with the agency than she could recall. Nevertheless she hurriedly finished her business before running her hands under the cold water.

She wasn't too surprised when couldn't find soap. She looked up into the dusty, dirty mirror, making note of the cagey look in her eyes. Her cheek was swollen and purpled, and it hurt to try and open her mouth or bite down. A banging on the door alerted her to her escorts end of patience, and she reluctantly opened it, waiting for them to grab hold of her again.

They lead her down the wide hallway to where it opened up into a big room - much smaller than the main one where she had been held for so long, but two stories tall, with a catwalk running alone the upper level just the same. Most of the children lined the catwalk, Myka eyed their sunglasses with concern, considering that the room had no windows and thus the only light came from the six flaming barrels - one in each corner of the room, and two on either side of a most peculiar stage.

A metal chair sat in a cheap plastic child's pool up on the stage, which was comprised of several pallets, but Myka didn't dwell too much on it as she was forcibly lead to a second chair, opposite of the stage, and shoved down. Her hands were secured at her sides, straps leading up from the legs of the chair. She warily observed the room, brow furrowing with wonder at the strips of lights behind each chair.

"Don't worry," the red and blue haired girl spoke to her for the first time. "H.G's time machine only hurts for a bit."

"Time machine?" Myka croaked, her voice hoarse and raw. H.G? she wondered silently. Like the writer? The girl grinned.

"Yeah. Cause when you use it, you get all the time in the world. And soon we'll be one big family, and it'll be awesome."

Would it even be worth the struggle at this point? She was tired and hungry, and the stress of the whole situation made her head pound far worse than before. Myka started as a door back in the wide hallway was thrown open, and a shirtless man was lead in with a brown sack over his head. He was brought up to the stage before being put in the other chair and strapped in just like herself. Myka swore she heard a bit of splashing over the caterwaul of noise from the children.

The dark haired girl of command pulled the sack off of the man's head, and Myka gaped as much as possible with her injured jaw. Though worse for wear and, looking significantly older, the city council committee head, James MacPherson, who had gone missing almost a month prior, stared back at her, his face contorted in agony.

Insuring that everything was in place, the dark haired leader slid a mask over the man's face. It was nondescript and made with what looked to be white latex, with a breathing hole at the mouth and the eye sockets covered with dark lenses. It was encased in plastic, with two metal prongs extending from either side. Done she jumped out of the pool, wet footprints following her across the room as she approached Myka.

She made sure the wrist bands were secure before sliding a different mask onto Myka, the same style as the one MacPherson donned. Myka felt as though her lungs were screaming, as her breathing quickened to finally match her pounding heart.

"Okay everyone," the red and blue haired girl shouted. "Count with me now - three...two...one...GO!"

On the mark someone, Myka wasn't sure who it was or where they were, hit the power as the lights started pulsing with blinding flashes. For a moment, her own breathing was all she could hear under the mask. Then the pain kicked in as electricity jolted back and forth between the prongs on each mask.

If her jaw hurt any less, and she could breathe, Myka was positive that she would be screaming from the pain. As it was, she could do no more than sit there and accept the torture as her body seized out of control, electricity zapping every single nerve in her body.

She couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't taste the blood that flooded her mouth from biting her lip. She couldn't even feel the pain in her jaw or head anymore, only the agony of her entire central nervous system coming to life. She didn't even recognize when the power had been turned off, as it took several seconds for her body to stop twitching. She sat there waiting for her conscious to come back to her, vaguely feeling the binds at her wrist being taken off. Straightening as much as she could, Myka weakly reached up, pulling at the mask for a few moments before it finally gave way.

She looked numbly down at it, studying it carefully before she noticed her hands. Rather what she thought was her hands, only they were much smaller than she remembered. Leaving the mask in her lap she inspected her palms and each digit first before turning them over.

They were unblemished and...young. She reached up and brushed her bruised jaw, noting the softness of her skin with a confused wonder.

Myka looked up on the catwalk, finally registering the cheering of the children. Her eyes were drawn to the movement across the room from her, as MacPherson took off his own mask, looking even older than previously. A hand grabbed her own, bringing her from her thoughts.

The dark haired girl was back, looking at her with gleaming eyes as she gently pulled the agent to her feet. Myka stumbled at first, off balanced in a manner that she couldn't understand. The other girl lead her down the wide hallway and back into the bathroom.

Myka stared at the mirror in a stunned silence, studying the long forgotten face of her twelve year old self. Tall for her age and gangly, she was positively swimming in her dress shirt and pants. The freckles she had seemingly grown out of previously spread over her cheeks and nose in full force, the green in her eyes popping out from her mess of light chocolate curls.

Speechless she turned towards the other girl, for the first time wondering exactly how old she was.

"My name is Helena. What is yours?" the dark haired girl asked with a surprisingly mature voice. Myka started at the British accent, recognizing it immediately from the dispatcher's phone call. She stared contemplatively into the dark brown eyes.

"Myka," she finally said, in a small, raspy voice. Oh God, she even sounded like a kid again. But Helena simply grinned with unmasked joy taking both of the now younger girl's hands in her own, squeezing them with a gentle warmth.

"My darling Myka...welcome to the Warehouse."

Without even realizing it, the now former agent returned the smile with her own crooked one.


End file.
